White Sakura
by Feral Phoenix
Summary: REPOSTED! Being pushed beyond your limits is hard. Marche must save a rival who has succumbed to this pressure, but time is running out... is there anything that can be done?


White Sakura

DISLCAIMER: I own none of the FFTA characters, places, or other stuff involving the game mentioned here. All of that belongs to Squaresoft/Square-Enix. I just wish I owned some stuff. (...like maybe Llednar-kun...) A note to all you who don't speak any Japanese: Sakura cherry blossoms.

The members of the bangaa clan waited carefully for their prey to approach--the scouts had reported that the three of them were coming, and their judgment was well-trusted. The clan was short a little on money, and so they had decided to resort to a little bullying of the rich to get their hands on more. The three travelers were obviously both very rich and very stupid, and would soon pay for their mistakes with a good deal of whatever gil they had on them.

The clan boss had decided that they would never again resort to trying to smuggle foreign monsters into Ivalice after being pounded into the ground by that posse of vieras, led by a puny human girl at that! It still made him as irritable as if someone had just called him a lizard--a deadly insult towards most bangaa-kind. And so he wasn't just blindly lashing out for money--he also wanted to make someone suffer like to his own loss.

He waited, knowing that it wouldn't be long now.

---

"H-how much longer?" the young boy asked, his soft, youthful alto voice cracked with weariness. His slightly frizzy tan hair was damp with sweat and hung into his face, almost obscuring the mark of the foreseer's eye inscribed upon his forehead. His smoke-blue eyes, normally hooded, were bleary and almost closed. With hesitant steps, he trudged onward, using the silver, gnarled staff in his hand as a walking stick. The boy's yellow, lace-edged tunic and red leggings were dusty from the day's walk, and he looked overall to be weary and thoroughly exhausted by the day's travel.

"Not much," the adult woman soothed, laying her hand on his shoulder. "We should be reaching Muscadet at any time now." Her long, tawny brown hair was bound in a ponytail which trailed to her back. Under her royal-purple cloak, she wore an armor-plated teddiette, thigh-length leather stretch boots, and a lengthened gauntlet which reached up to a shoulderplate on her left arm. She was armed with a hand-scythe which was deadly sharp--and looked as though it had been used recently. Despite her dual fierce and alluring appearance, her sapphire eyes regarded the young boy with a deep concern. "Try to hold up a little longer, alright?" A foreseer's eye was also printed upon her forehead, giving her a bit of a fey look to match the child's.

A second child, a little older than his companion, was up in front, pacing forward silently. His amber eyes were fixed on the terrain ahead, carefully watching for any signs of danger. His open vest, as well as his shoulder-length blonde hair, was whipped back with a sudden breeze, allowing the evening sky to form a halo about his body. "I don't like this. It's too quiet." His voice was a shade darker and a step deeper than the other boy's, with an edge of steel like the blade of the sword sheathed at his side. "Let's get out of here."

"Too late for that," a sneering voice from above the three proclaimed. They turned quickly, with the blonde youth drawing his sword and stepping back into a guarding position. A group of seven or eight bangaa warriors were standing upon a hill nearby, glowering with all the gloating confidence of a group of schoolyard bullies. Each one was clearly a powerful, experienced fighter.

The blonde boy swore under his breath. "Another fight. Wonderful. Mewt, get behind your mother." The tired youth scurried behind the woman as he was told.

"Be careful, Llednar," the child named Mewt whispered, although his friend couldn't hear him and was already making his way towards the offenders in a reckless dash. The judge for the battle had already appeared off towards the sidelines, watching to make sure that no one was killed.

The bangaa clan members drew back in surprise as the strange boy made his way through their weaker fighters, cutting each down with even sword strokes. Naturally, no attack was a killing strike--the judicial system was too influential for any fighter to risk one--but they were all powerful enough to knock out each of the boss' peons in one hit. As a result of this mere child's headlong attack, four of the bangaa were out for the count.

One of the commanders, a powerful defender, charged forward with his javelin and sliced at the confounding opponent, hitting him cleanly across the ribs and slicing the thin fabric of his shirt open in a wide, messy gash. The defender looked back, expecting to see a bloody, gaping wound--what he saw stunned him into silence.

There was no physical mark of the attack he had made upon the boy at all--just a rip in the shirt, displaying a patch of pale skin. The boy Llednar's only reaction to the attempt was an expression of slight annoyance.

"You ripped my shirt." The defender took a step back upon seeing the dangerous look in the child's eyes. "You idiot." In a desperate attempt to save himself from the boy's wrath, the defender, assisted by the boss' second-in-command, a dragoon, launched himself forward in another attack.

In what seemed like a flash of light, the young warrior's sword spun in a crescent, hitting both would-be attackers with the flat of the blade and knocking them senseless.

The bangaa boss was impressed. Never before had he seen such power from one so young--the boy could not be any older than thirteen, and yet he'd dealt with trained battle soldiers as though they were the ones who were only children. "You are very sstrong, aren't you." It was a statement, not a question. "But you're tired. Been fighting a lot, hmmm?" It was true--the strange youth's forehead was beaded with drops of sweat and had been even before the encounter with the six bangaa. He was trembling slightly, and for one with his skill, it had to be from fatigue instead of fear. His breathing was deep and slightly raspy, as though he'd been a little short on air for a while now. "Why not quit? Ssave the messs of having to deal with me, too."

The reply was a fierce glare; those unnerving amber eyes glowed with fury. "Shut up. I'm not so tired that I can't deal with you." He whipped his sword back, as though preparing to strike, and seemed to focus as black beams of energy were drawn towards it, charging the blade with unnatural power. When the blade was a deep ebony, the boy drew it up into a thrust position, as though he would attempt a Japanese Getotsu (fang-point) technique. The boss drew up his own blade in the counter for the technique as the strange young man charged forward, ready to block the strike; but unexpectedly, the youth traced the kanji for "heart" with the tip of his blade and turned the thrust into a last-minute backhand slice, felling the powerful bangaa with ease.

"Yeah!" From the sidelines, Mewt cheered and let out a long sigh of relief, running forward and, avoiding the bodies of the bangaa, making his way towards his friend. "Llednar, you did it!"

Hearing Mewt's triumphant call, Llednar looked over his shoulder, smiled wearily, and collapsed facedown in the grass.

Both Mewt and his mother hurried to their ally's side. "Mama, what happened to him?" Mewt asked almost tearfully. "Is he... is he...?"

Mewt's mother carefully put two fingers to the unconscious youth's throat, feeling for a pulse. "He's alright, my dear, but I'm afraid we've overworked him. I was worried about this. Not even Llednar can stand a battle every few minutes. He probably won't be well again for a good few days. This is going to delay our getting to the Ambervale far too long to be safe..." She carefully raised Llednar's body so that she could take his vest off. "We need to get him to Muscadet as soon as possible. Moving around isn't going to help his condition a single bit." With the utmost care, Mewt's mother tugged at the silver chain around Llednar's neck until the blue jewel he wore as a pendant was in her hand. Its natural glow was very faint.

Mewt watched in agonized silence as his mother cradled Llednar in her arms and carefully stood up, carrying him as though he were a small child. "Let's go. We've wasted enough time already."

---

"So, what should we do next, kupokupo?"

The speaker was a young moogle; the setting, Muscadet's only tavern, which doubled as an inn. The one he addressed was a teenage human with shaggy blonde hair and bright blue eyes.

The human teenager shrugged. "I don't know. We've got to contact Doned and Ritz as soon as we can, but I haven't got any idea where to start looking. And then there's Mewt and the queen to worry about... even though the Judgemaster and Babus are following them, they've got Llednar, haven't they?"

The moogle shuddered. "You're right, Marche. That boy is fair creepy! Gives me the shivers just to look at him, kupo."

Marche made a face while signaling to a nearby viera waitress. "You know, I don't think he can help it. After all, he is what he was made to be."

"Why do you say that?" The little moogle was as curious as ever, leaning forward slightly.

"Montblanc," Marche replied with a groan as a busty viera in a bright pink uniform sauntered over. "Two ciders, please." He gave the waitress a few coins as she headed off again. "You aren't supposed to know this, but... Queen Remedi created him to be a sort of special guardian to Mewt." Montblanc quirked one eyebrow questioningly. "See, Llednar is... Mewt's dark side. His anger and depression and hatred and all his uncontrollable emotions. I don't even think he _can _be happy. So he can't really help scaring people the way that he does..."

"Oh," Montblanc said softly, his hazel eyes wide. "I... think I understand, kupo..."

Just as the waitress came back with the pair's ordered mugs of cider, there was the sound of a heavy staff being pounded against the wooden tavern floor. "Excuse me! I have an announcement to make!"

All the clanners in the pub looked up towards the bar, where a severe-looking White Mage Adept viera stood patiently. "I have a job offering for any who are strong enough to take it--some healing herbs need to be gathered, and quickly." Most of the assorted people muttered a little and went back to whatever they were doing before, but Marche and Montblanc stood up and headed over to her.

"What is it that you need, and why?" Marche asked.

The White Mage Adept gave him a penetrating stare. "You are Marche of Clan Dragon, no?" Embarrassed, the boy nodded. "Perhaps you and your clan are powerful enough to accept this quest. A few days ago, a very sick boy was brought into our care here. We have healers working on him day and night, but we need a little more than magic for this. Firstly, we need some muscmaloi..."

Montblanc nodded. "That's easy enough to get, kupo. Why do you say that this is a dangerous mission?" The Adept glared down at him with a look in her eyes that would peel paint.

"We don't just need that simple kind of herb. For this, we'll need the white cherry blossoms which only bloom within the Ozmon. And those, young man, are very hard to get. Clan Borzoi guards that territory like a hawk."

"Please, can you tell us what's wrong with that boy?" Marche asked, a note of worry in his voice. He was well known for his empathy towards others. "Where did he come from? How bad, exactly, is his condition?"

The healer shook her head. "He came with a woman and another child who could have been his mother and brother. They told us that he'd overworked himself by fighting several battles on his own in succession. In his weakened state, it was easy for him to contract a serious fever. Without that muscmaloi, he will surely die. But without the sakura, he will live out the rest of his life as a burnt-out husk, a cripple. This illness will scar without the combination of them both. He's holding on, but barely. We need the help of fighters for this."

Marche grimaced. "This is bad... we'll take the job. One of my own clansbrothers is a healer; perhaps he can help while we work?"

"Perhaps. Send him along when you go out for the herbs. We need the muscmaloi first. God be with you." The healer strode off somewhat stiffly, leaving Marche and Montblanc standing side by side in the busy pub.

"I guess that answers my question, kupokupo. That poor boy." Montblanc shook his head sympathetically, then looked up towards his silent companion. "Marche...? Ivalice to Marche, kupopo!"

"What?" Marche turned. "I'm sorry, I was thinking. We'd best be back off to the Prancing Chocobo then, right?" Montblanc nodded and scurried off towards the door. Marche shook his head, whispering under his breath, "But it can't be..."

A few minutes later, he headed after his friend. There was no time to question things now.

---

"Hey, boys! Did you find us anything interesting?" a viera woman lounging in a fluffy armchair called as Marche and Montblanc entered the room of the Cyril inn. She had cropped her silver hair short enough to be a boy's, and her long green tunic-dress and leather archer's wristbands proclaimed her a powerful, experienced sniper.

"You might say that, Miserie," Marche replied with a sigh. "This one's hot and there isn't much time. There's a sick kid in Muscadet who needs some healing herbs to live, and we're on a time limit here."

"A sick boy?" came a quiet, timorous female voice from another side of the room. A second, younger viera, dressed in assassin's black, had stepped forward, looking concerned to the point of being tearful. "How sick?"

"Very bad, Daryle, kupo," Montblanc said with a sober nod. "We need muscmaloi and white sakura for him."

"White ssakura?" a bangaa white monk asked incredulously. "I thought that didn't exisst!"

"Oh, shut up, Neuman," a second, female bangaa replied, punching him in the shoulder. Oddly, there was no trace of the natural bangaa hiss in her slightly accented voice. "There's plenty in the Ozmonfield. That's just Borzoi territory."

"Eleono," the bangaa called Neuman whined. "Sstop picking on me!"

"So, what are we going to do then?" a human mage asked. He was clad in the bright cerulean of a blue mage but bore the silver-and-opal pendant and armbands of a White Mage Adept. "Find the muscmaloi or the sakura? Or both?" This was Roland. His brother, Gelarto, had been one of the original members of Marche and Montblanc's clan. Sadly, he had been slain in Jagd Dorsa, one of the few lawless areas in Ivalice. Roland was determined to carry on his brother's legacy, although his healing was done with magic instead of Gelarto's holy sword.

"Both," Marche said wearily, plunking himself down on the floor in front of Miserie's chair. "Nobody else would take the job. And Roland, you need to get over to the Spina Lodge right away. They need all the help they can get." Roland sighed, nodded, and stood up, grabbing his saber and walking steadily out of the room. "Daryle, Neuman, you're with Montblanc. The three of you have to get to the Giza Plains to get as much muscmaloi as you can without causing a major deprivation there. Miserie, Eleono, you're with me. We get to go have a little fun with Clan Borzoi." The last remark was both humorless and a little on the grim side.

"Great," Miserie declared with enthusiasm, standing up and grabbing her black lacquer longbow from where it leaned against the wall. "We get the jolly work!"

"Only you would think that engaging Borzoi iss jolly," Neuman muttered under his breath. "They cheat and don't follow the lawss."

"Oh, but that's the fun of it," Miserie said teasingly. "We always have to cheat first. Good old Ezel never gives any antilaws to the Borzoi, nor does anyone else."

"You two, just--!" Marche interjected, deciding to intervene before Miserie and Neuman got into what they called a "frank exchange of ideas" and what Marche personally thought of as a barroom brawl. "Let's go! We don't have any time to spare!"

"You always ruin our fun," Miserie whined overexaggeratedly, her long ears drooping although her dark eyes sparkled with mischief. "Ah, well. There's always the next one."

---

Roland took off his cloak and laid his weapon against the wall as he entered the sickroom. As it was dusk, a fire was blazing in the hearth, causing little drops of sweat to bead all over his body. The other healers were taking breaks--it was his turn to tend to the patient, and his first shift in actuality.

The boy who lay naked but for a blue jewel pendant under the thick fleece sheets of the bed was even more pitiful than Roland had imagined. His hair, perhaps a few centimeters shorter than shoulder-length, was spread in a golden halo around his head, with his bangs hastily pushed out of his eyes by some healer or other. From what Roland could see, his body was constructed delicately, with small shoulders, pale skin, and fine facial features. This child probably wasn't much younger than Marche, but the difference in pure physical strength made the distance between the two seem like decades. A thin film of perspiration made the boy's skin shine with a sickly glow, and his chest heaved with every rasping breath he took.

Roland carefully went to the boy's side, softly touching his shoulder and pulling away immediately from the heat of the fever. Steeling himself for the burn he knew would come, Roland laid his hand back on the child's brow, gently mopping away the sweat. Suddenly shivering, Roland's patient opened his eyes.

The White Adept barely stifled a cry of shock as an icy chill swept down his spine. The boy's eyes were a fiery, haunting shade of amber. The black pupils were dilated unnaturally wide, and the sheen to the eyes told Roland that the strange boy was probably delirious from his climbing fever. Forcing away his sickly reaction to the child's eye color, the mage smoothed his patient's hair back, talking to him in a low and soothing voice and saying that everything was going to be fine. Reassured, the boy closed those freakishly alien eyes and to all appearances went back to sleep.

"There's something not right about you, but..." Roland was torn between revulsion and the overwhelming desire to help this strange youth in any way he could.

After a few minutes' worth of inner conflict, the mage drew up a chair and sat beside the youth's bed. "I took my oath as an Adept to always help those in need. So I will stay by your side until you are well. Everyone deserves their chance at life."

---

"...twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty. Kupopo! This should be enough!"

Montblanc, Neuman, and Daryle sat together in the grass, counting up the sprigs of muscmaloi that they had gathered in the plains. After two hours' work, they had come up with enough to treat most people's illnesses, even the worst.

"Thank goodness," Daryle sighed, sweeping her long braid over her shoulder. "Maybe now, that boy will be okay."

"Perhapss," Neuman said grouchily, still peeved that he hadn't been included in Marche's fight party. "Perhapss he'll still die. No one knowss for ssure."

"Stop being such a pill, kupo!" Montblanc scolded. "We need to get to Muscadet!"

"Not so fast," came an aristocratic voice from above the party. The threesome scooped their herbs into a burlap bag and stood up, bristling slightly. The speaker was a nu mou, and a beastmaster by the look of him--accompanying him were a moogle animist and a trio of tonberries.

"What do you want, kupo?" Montblanc asked of them irritably. "You're on Clan Dragon turf, so shoo if it's not important, kupo!"

"Thiss lot may need a little convincing," Neuman said with a dark grin, cracking his knuckles. "Lookss like we'll have a little fun today, after all."

---

Marche padded silently through the long grasses of the Ozmonfield, Miserie and Eleono right behind him. They had been able to avoid Borzoi troops through most of the terrain, and were now almost to the orchard which contained the trees blooming white sakura.

"I don't think we'll be able to steal as much as we need without them noticing," Miserie whispered. "Let's break the silence with a good, jolly argument."

"Oh, shut up," Eleono whispered back. "Marche, what do you want us to do?"

"You two mind being bait?" Marche asked quietly. Miserie and Eleono shook their heads. "Okay then, get their attention while I get the sakura, so we can hightail it on out of here." Nearly identical evil grins split the girls' faces as they nodded and headed off towards the nearest Borzoi patrol. Smiling slightly and pitying the Borzois, Marche snuck over to the trees.

Sure enough, the blossoms of the cherry trees were a pure, beautiful white, the exact color of new-fallen snow. Carefully, Marche plucked a few flowers from the first tree--just enough so that it wouldn't be noticed, but the amount would probably still help. He crept over to another tree and did the same.

Meanwhile, Miserie stood up straight, sauntered over to the patrol, and sat on a rock in front of them, whistling sharply to get their attention. "Oy! Mutts! You want to know what I think of your mongrel clan?" The Borzois turned around dangerously. "First of all, your defense totally sucks, as you've let me, all on my little lonesome, get way up here without a single fight yet. Second, you're wuss enough not to attack me, when I'm sooooo alone and evidently helpless." She smirked, armed her bow, and shot at a Borzoi bangaa, felling him. "Third, you're weak enough for me to destroy your grunts with a single hit, and fourth... no one's noticed Eleono yet."

The Borzois turned wildly around to see that Eleono was standing behind them, waving brazenly, and left their backs open to Miserie's assault. The bangaa and viera easily turned the guard party into a pile of scrap on the ground.

"You done yet, Marche?" Miserie yelled. Marche, in the orchard, nodded, and the three of them got together and ran towards the Ozmonfield border.

"Not so fast, handsome," came a voice from behind them as an arrow went cleanly through Marche's small pouch of sakura blooms, destroying them. Eyes burning, Marche whipped around to see a dark-skinned viera archer and an armor-plated bangaa dragoon behind him and the girls. "You've tried stealing from Borzoi, and now you'll have to pay dearly for it to leave."

---

Montblanc, Daryle, and Neuman turned as the door to Clan Dragon's room in the Prancing Chocobo flew open. Marche, looking downcast, trudged in, followed by Eleono, and Miserie, with her arm in a sling.

After a few moments of silent shock, Marche spoke bitterly. "They caught us when we were almost home free."

Miserie swore, looking down at her broken arm. "And they ruined my ability to fight, too... those bastards. I'll make them pay for this sixfold when I get the chance."

After another awkward pause, Montblanc spoke. "Well, we managed to get the muscmaloi to that poor kid, at least, kupo. They didn't let us see him, but Roland said that his fever's gone down, at least."

Marche grimaced. "Do you think they'd let me...?"

"Maybe," Daryle said softly. "You should tell them about the sakura, anyway. Do you want any of us to come with you?"

"No..." Marche shook his head. "If it's okay, I'd rather go alone." He stood up and walked out, still looking dejected.

"Poor lad," Eleono whispered mournfully. "But there isn't any more we can do."

---

"I see, then..." the head healer of Muscadet whispered bitterly. "So the child is to die."

Marche hung his head. "We got caught trying to get the sakura out of Borzoi turf. I can't believe it. We tried so hard, but we still failed. This is horrible." He looked up desperately. "But... but can I see him?"

The healer's expression became troubled. "That... may not be wise..."

"I won't wake him!" Marche begged. "I... I just, want to see him... that's all."

"Perhaps," came the carefully emotionless reply. The healer left the room with a sweep of his heavy robes, and Marche sat down against the wall, sighing.

A few minutes later, the sound of hesitant footsteps caught his attention. Looking up, Marche couldn't believe his eyes.

A youth dressed in a loose white tunic and leggings was walking along the opposite wall, leaning against it for support. His shoulder-length blonde hair looked slightly unkempt, and his skin was nearly pure white. He was breathing heavily, and his golden-amber eyes were almost closed.

"No way..." Marche breathed, although the slight chill sliding down his spine was already disproving his words. "It can't be!"

And yet he knew who it was. Without a second's thought, Marche was up and running towards the strange boy. "Llednar! It _is _you!" He paused. "What on earth are you doing up, anyway? You're _sick_. You're supposed to be _in bed, _am I right?" Realizing that the other boy was shivering, Marche put his hands on his hips. "Well?"

"I... I have... to find... the prince..." came the slightly pained reply. Marche's sternness immediately dropped away. "They... can't get... any farther... without... me..." Still half-delirious from the fever, Llednar probably didn't even realize that it was Marche he was talking to.

"Hey, don't you even," Marche said with growing alarm. "You can barely even stand up on your own! How do you expect to find Mewt and the queen like this?" A sudden realization came to him as he spoke. "No... they didn't just _leave _you here, did they! How _could _they! You're sick! You're, you're--" Marche laid one hand on Llednar's forehead and winced "--you're burning up! Come on, you need to lie down. I'll help you back to your room." Not waiting for a reply, Marche tugged his former rival away from the wall and to his own side, putting one arm firmly around his shoulders and steadying him.

Slightly clouded golden eyes flicked up to meet his and suddenly cleared. "Marche...?" Llednar whispered hoarsely. "What are you...?"

Having reached his companion's quarters, Marche kicked the door open, hauled the other boy inside, and gestured broadly at the bed. "Hush. You need to get to sleep. There isn't any way that you can go after Mewt in your current condition. Just rest for now--wait until you're better." Sighing, Llednar flopped back into the snarl of sheets obediently as Marche turned to leave, pausing at the door and waiting until the strange boy's breathing became as deep and rhythmic as his illness would allow. "And I promise that I _will _help you get better. I've _got _to find you those sakura--I've got to." With that, Marche left.

---

The pubmaster looked up from polishing the bar counter as Marche walked in. "Hello, young man! Can I help you?"

Marche headed over and took a seat, looking thoughtful. "Yeah. I'd like to place a request for help on a special mission..."

---

"What's this? I don't think I saw this posted before... 'Looking for any source of the healing blossom, white sakura, other than the Ozmonfield. The curatives are needed for a sick boy in Muscadet with a steadily decreasing condition. We'll team up to find the sakura and deliver it safely.' And this... out of _Marche?_ I thought he was busy with his own agenda." The girl shrugged. "He always was way too nice. What do you think, Shara?"

The viera she'd addressed shrugged, playing with her short hair. "Why don't we? The pay is really good, and that Marche boy sounds like he needs help pretty badly. He's a good companion."

"If you say so," the girl replied a bit absently, turning back to the pubmaster and pushing a few hundred gil in his direction. "We'll take it. Where can I find Clan Dragon?"

The pubmaster shrugged. "Their clan headquarters is in the Cyril tavern, the Prancing Chocobo, but I hear their boss is staying at the Spina Lodge in Muscadet, watching over that poor boy." He paused. "You... be careful, lass..."

The viera drew a slender kunai (ninja's throwing knife; differently designed from the shuriken in that it is in the form of a knife instead of a star) from her belt and threw it at a target on the wall. Smirking at the satisfying thud it made as it hit the center, she said wryly, "Is she ever careful? She's Ritz."

---

Marche sighed and put his head in his hands. After informing his clan that he was going to help watch over Llednar with Roland until help arrived, he'd immediately moved in at the Spina Lodge with his companion, spending each day waiting for the news that just got worse and worse. Llednar had lapsed into a comatose state and was already starting to slowly waste away--the sakura had to be procured in the next few days, or all hope would be lost.

The door to the tavern creaked open, and in strode a gray nu mou in deep violet hermetic's robes, whistling cheerfully and spinning a black, metallic card between two fingers. Upon noticing Marche brooding in the corner, he took a seat next to the boy and gave him a hearty slap on the back.

"Why the gleeful face?" the nu mou inquired, boisterous to the point of being obnoxious. "You look as happy as if you've just been forcibly removed from your clan. What happened?"

"Hi Ezel," Marche said gloomily, still looking at the ground.

"No eye contact? And you're still acting as though you're the sole survivor of a Jagd expedition?" Genuinely surprised, Ezel sobered a bit. "What happened? You _aren't _the sole survivor of a failed attempt at something or other in a Jagd, are you? The last time I saw you so glum, your friend Gelarto had died."

Marche shook his head listlessly. "No... nothing like that. But there _is _a life depending on me right now, and I don't know what to do about it." He related the story of Llednar's illness and the failed attempt to retrieve white sakura from Borzoi's land. "What should I do? If he dies, I'll feel like it's my fault, but I have no idea where to begin looking for that sakura! Ezel, you know Ivalice far better than I do... have you got any idea of a place where I can start looking?"

The gray nu mou pulled a face. "There's the Ambervale, of course. The queen's summer palace, a chapel in the mountains to the north. It's got a whole orchard of those white trees." Marche perked up immediately, but Ezel raised one hand cautioningly. "Don't get so cheerful just yet, my boy. No one knows exactly where the Ambervale is except the royalty and the judges. It's their most guarded secret. If I knew where it was, I'd have gone and looted the place already. There's amber everywhere there--the best quality of it, too. It's the kind I use to make my antilaws." Marche sagged again, sighing even more deeply than before. "Still, there's something you should know--I've seen those sakura trees before, but I can't remember exactly where. It's just that those trees and amber usually are found in the same places." Marche sighed again.

"Thanks for the help, Ezel," Marche said sadly, managing to crack a slightly lopsided smile. "What's that antilaw card you keep playing with?"

The nu mou winked. "I'd brought it here to brag, but I think I'll give it to you instead. This antilaw is an Allmighty. Its powers are immense--it will wipe out any laws set for the day for the full length of one engagement. It can't touch laws set on a specific person, but it will wipe everything else blank and leave things to be rewritten by you. Think of this as a hope-you-feel-better-or-at-least-figure-out-what-the-hell-you're-doing present." Ezel pressed the card into Marche's hand. "Use it when there's no other way out. Take care of yourself." With that, the hermetic stood up and sauntered off, humming a jaunty tune to himself as he left.

"Oh, Marche..." came a familiar female voice. Not even daring to hope, Marche looked up and turned around sharply. Two girls--a viera and a human, both familiar--had come up to him.

"We took your mission," Shara said cheerfully. "And we know exactly where you can find that sakura you're after."

"But first," Ritz said coolly, crossing her arms, "we want to know why you're spending your time like this instead of trying to go home, like you seem to want to so badly."

Marche didn't take Ritz's demands personally at all--if anything, he seemed not to have heard them. "Am I _ever _glad to see the two of you!" He leaped up, grabbed each of the girls by the wrist, and hauled them over to the room where Roland was watching over their continually sickening patient.

"It's no good, Marche," Roland said wearily, pushing his hair out of his face. "He's just getting worse and--" he looked up "--Ritz? And Shara? Why...?"

"They took our mission," Marche replied with a sigh of relief. "We might actually have a chance at saving him."

"This... this is the kid?" Ritz whispered after a long pause. Marche nodded.

"Yeah. I couldn't help getting involved, especially not when I realized just who he is. He'll die without the sakura we need... I just can't stand it, especially when the people who should be watching over him just abandoned him here."

Ritz frowned. "Abandoned? When he's this sick? I just might want to have a talk with said people about their responsibilities."

Marche innerly smiled, but outwardly just sighed. "They'd laugh you out of their general area, you know. It's... Mewt and his mom. The queen." There was an expectant silence. "This kid's name is Llednar. He may not look it now, but... he's a very, very powerful biskmatar."

"A _mageknight?" _Shara said with a little gasp. "In _this _era?"

"Oh," Ritz murmured. "So that must be why the queen didn't take any guards with her... this guy is probably as good as a whole platoon..."

"There are other reasons, too..." Marche said softly. "Llednar is just like the totema who protected the five crystals of Ivalice. He was created for the sole purpose of protecting Mewt."

"Created?" Ritz and Shara asked together, both looking confused.

"Yeah. The judgemaster told me. The queen created him out of all Mewt's negative emotions, so he can be a little violent. But I don't think she counted on Llednar having a mind of his own. There's more to him than just anger and hate, I've seen it." Marche added mentally, _I hope that's what it was I saw..._

"So, then, we're fighting to save his life..." Ritz said guardedly. It was impossible for Marche to guess just what she was thinking. "This Llednar kid is damn lucky that you're such a nice person. Come on. There are some of those white cherry trees on part of our clan turf."

---

"Well, here we are."

Ritz, Shara, and Marche stood on the edge of a deep gorge. A thin, rickety bridge crossed its span, and over on the other side was a small grove of trees, their branches covered in white blooms.

"Thank you guys so much," Marche said gratefully, bowing deeply. "I'm not sure that Llednar could last much longer without the help of this medicine."

Ritz shrugged. "It's no big deal to help you like this. Since we technically own this section of the Siena, these are our trees, and we can let you have as much as you need."

Shara smiled slowly and ruffled her friend's hair. "And it's not like Ritz could refuse you anyway, not when you two are so cute a--ow!" Ritz had elbowed Shara in the stomach and was now glaring daggers at her, her face glowing a bright scarlet.

"Er... well... why don't we just go and get those blossoms?" Marche asked awkwardly, starting to blush as well. Was Shara saying what he'd thought she said!

Wordlessly, Ritz headed over to the bridge, crossing it with a numb expression on her face. Shara tried to conceal a smile behind her hand, and Marche only blushed more.

On the other side of the gorge, Ritz paused. "Do you get the feeling that it's a little too quiet here?" she said with a frown.

Shara sobered and cocked her long ears. "Now that I think about it..." she said slowly, "no birds are around. And no animals. Not even monsters... this is starting to creep me out."

Marche yelled aloud as a dark shape darted from behind a tree and grabbed Ritz roughly from behind, putting its hand over her mouth. With a shocked little yelp, Ritz tried to squirm around in her captor's hold, but whoever it was had her pinned against their body. After a few moments, Ritz gained enough purchase to slam the heel of her hand into the anonymous clanner's groin. The stranger groaned and released his hold, stepping backwards, and Ritz whipped out her rapier, letting its point graze her assailant's throat.

"All right, what d'you want!" Ritz yelled, glaring furiously at the bangaa who was still half wincing in pain. "Be quick about answering! I may just slip and end up slitting your throat if you don't!"

"Doesn't he look a little familiar?" Shara asked, heading over to her friend's side. "A little _too _familiar?" She crossed her arms, considering the bangaa. "Wait. I know you. You're from that clan who was trying to smuggle illegal monsters!"

"Why are you coming to bother Ritz?" Marche asked sternly, crossing his arms as well. He'd also come over the bridge. "You know she'll just kick your butt."

The bangaa shrugged. "Bosss'ss orderss," he said nonchalantly. "We're taking hold of the Ssiena Gorge, sstarting here. And you've got the resst of my company to deal with, too."

Shara let out a yell and strung her heavy greatbow, the Arbalest. "Ritz! We've got company over behind the trees! It looks like dragoons and a squadron of flambeaux!"

"A squadron of _what?" _Marche asked, puzzled.

"Flambeaux--it's sort of slang for an attack party sent to burn enemy territory," Ritz explained. "They're torch-carriers. Shara and I will take care of all of them--you just go and get the sakura you need." When Marche hesitated, Ritz glared. "GO! That boy back in Muscadet is counting on you, remember?"

Wincing, Marche ran into the trees. He remembered.

Trying to ignore the clash of swords and Ritz and Shara's outraged battle cries, Marche clumsily shook a small burlap bag out of his waist pack and began to gather the blooms of the trees. After what seemed like several minutes, he paused, tied the sack, and started towards the edge of the grove, determined to help Ritz and Shara dispatch their bangaa foes.

The faint sound of crackling stopped him dead in his tracks.

Slowly, Marche turned, squinting as a sudden gust of wind stung his face. Even with his eyes half-closed, he could still see the bright yellow-orange glow at the other end of the trees.

"Oh. _Shit."_ The fire that the attackers had set was spreading quickly, thanks to the wind, and was consuming the cherry trees with alarming speed. And Marche only had about half the amount of blossoms he figured that he needed.

Cursing, Marche ducked back into the trees, sweeping blossoms from the branches of those around him as fast as he dared. There had to be some way to get as much as he needed before the fire caught up with him!

Finishing the last of her opponents, Ritz turned towards the glade of trees to see how Marche was doing and caught sight of the growing blaze. The fire had spread to the tops of almost every tree by now, and it was greedily consuming those on the side where it had been started.

"Dammit, Marche, you stubborn little..." she growled under her breath as she fought back the mounting wave of panic that struggled to overtake her. "Shara! The trees!"

By the time the two girls made it to the glade's edge, the whole lot of the trees had gone up like torches. The paths to get out now were few and far between, and thick gray smoke choked the air.

"I'm going in!" Ritz declared, sweeping her long hair into a ponytail. When Shara began to protest, she continued, "I doubt that Marche will be able to make it out on his own now! I have to go in there and get him!" Not allowing her companion to protest, Ritz dashed into the trees, skirting the flames that now spread to the roots and grass.

Squinting, Ritz cast about herself for any sight of Marche. Finally, she spotted him several yards away, crouched in the space between a few trees and shielding the bag of blossoms with his body. Skipping around the tongues of flame that seared at the hem of her skirt, Ritz hurried to him.

"Marche, we've got to get out of here!" she yelled when she'd made it to his side.

Marche coughed slightly and raised his face enough to see Ritz kneeling before him. "I can't. There's no way... the fire's been weakening the trees' branches. They'll fall."

Grasping his wrist, Ritz tugged Marche to his feet. "Come on! There's a path on this way. Hurry. Stay here much longer and you're going to burn!"

The two of them headed back the way that Ritz had come, trying to avoid the periodic crashes of falling branches and trunks. Once, they moved a little too late and a heavy branch tilted towards them unexpectedly--Marche caught it on his upper arm, allowing Ritz to hurry away before he followed, stifling the flames trying to consume his own flesh.

"Damn..." Ritz hissed as the two of them came into a small clearing, through which there had been a path to the outside. Had been--it was now blocked by a high wall of fire. Marche fell to his knees, groaning slightly in pain and clutching the burn on his arm.

Spotting a tree that had been mostly untouched by the blaze as of yet, Ritz shook Marche's shoulder. "Hey, do you think you can manage to cut a thick branch off that tree? If it falls right, we can use it as a bridge across the flames."

Looking up, Marche nodded painfully. "I... I think so," he replied, coughing. "Maybe..." Lunging forward from his kneeling position, he unsheathed one of his katanas and cleanly cut a branch from the tree. It fell directly into the fire.

"That's not a 'maybe'," Ritz said, impressed. "Now go on! Cross! It won't hold for very long!"

"What about you?"

"I'll follow!" Ritz insisted, getting impatient. "You're hurt, and we can't risk that sakura! NOW MOVE!"

Wincing again, Marche obeyed. As soon as he'd gotten fifteen feet away from the blaze, he collapsed into a kneeling position. Shara ran over to him.

"Where's Ritz!" she demanded, going pale.

Marche shrugged helplessly. "She told me to go first." He coughed slightly, still recovering from breathing the smoke of the fire. "She's not... out yet?"

A sharp pop from behind the two made them both turn fearfully. The fire had devoured the thin branch which had been Marche's bridge. There was no safe path now.

Marche blanched. "No...!" he uttered, shocked. "Ritz, no!"

"I... can't..." Shara shook her head. "I can't believe this..." She shook her head still more vigorously, causing her long rabbit ears to flip. "It can't be true!"

"Will you two stop blubbering!" came a very familiar, very annoyed voice. "I'm standing _right here!"_ Marche and Shara turned, amazed.

Ritz stood with her arms crossed a few feet behind them, tapping one bare foot in the grass. Her hair was wound into a knot at the back of her neck, and her slightly sheer pink dress was decidedly scorched--in fact, it was in tatters. Small marks of ash over Ritz's bare arms gave her a dusty look, but she didn't seem to have any serious burns.

"H-how?" Marche asked breathlessly. "How did you make it?"

"Easily enough," came the short reply. "There was a little break in the flames a ways off. I headed there when the path we made was blocked." Ritz shrugged. "I lost my armor, and my dress is... not at its greatest, but I'm fine."

"I'm... glad you're sa..." Marche started to stand up, but fell down again, clutching his burn with a little whimper.

Ritz's harsh glare softened a little as she headed over to her friend's side. As a rip in her dress widened from the movement, she stopped, glared down at the ragged garment, and cried "Oh, _bother _this stupid thing!", taking what was left of the dress in one hand and ripping it off.

"Ritz, what--!" Shara asked after a long pause as her friend tore the ragged cloth into long strips. Marche, too, was staring, though he couldn't find words to speak.

"Bandages," Ritz answered curtly. She glared at Marche. "Just what do you think you're looking at, Peeky McStaresalot?"

"Um... nothing," Marche answered meekly, forcing his stare away and gulping slightly.

It wasn't that Ritz's undergarments were revealing. Quite the contrary--her navy blue bustier only allowed a sliver of skin to be seen above her equally dark panties. The garter belt that the teenager wore further concealed her figure, covering her hips down to the thin bands of lace around her thighs. It was just the thin line of cleavage that the bustier allowed that drew Marche's eyes--and thoughts.

"Here. Bandages," Ritz said sharply, thrusting the torn strips of cloth from her dress into Marche's face. "You're going to need them for that arm of yours." She stood up and walked off towards Shara, throwing a "By the way, STOP LOOKING AT MY BUTT, YOU PERV" at Marche as she went.

"I think you surprised him," Shara said mildly. "Marche doesn't really strike me as the type who's into staring at girls' lingerie."

"Ha ha ha," Ritz said darkly. "My butt he's not. All men are the same on that level. Look at him, he can't help himself."

"I just think he likes you," Shara shot at Ritz in a singsong voice. "And you've given him material for thought." Before Ritz could come up with a retort, Shara undid her thick orange sash and handed it to her friend, rebelting her skirt. "Use this if you don't want him to stare at you any more."

Looking decidedly evil, Ritz snatched the sash out of her friend's grip and wound it around her waist, creating a miniskirt of sorts that clashed violently with her blue bustier and even worse with her pink hair. "Let's go," she grumbled.

---

"Roland! ROLAND!"

The blue mage turned, surprised, as Marche burst into the room, panting. In one hand the teenage human held a moderately full burlap bag, and the other rested on his knee. A mass of strange-looking bandages bound up what appeared to be a nasty burn on Marche's upper arm.

"What happened?" Roland asked, giving Marche a very strange look.

"We got it," Marche said in between gasps. "We got the sakura." Letting the burlap bag fall open, he displayed to his friend the pure white flowers and petals that he had retrieved with Ritz and Shara's help.

"And not a moment too soon," Roland breathed, looking as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "Thank God for your girlfriend and her clansister--Llednar will be fine now." He took the bag as Marche flushed bright pink.

"SHE IS NOT MY GIRLFRIEND!" he protested helplessly, although Roland completely ignored him and began to grind a few snowy petals with mortar and pestle. After fuming for a good few minutes, Marche stood up and stormed out of the room, still bright red in the face.

---

"I hope you don't think you'll be getting anything stronger than this, now," the innkeeper said sternly as he passed a weak, waterlogged brandy to Marche.

The youth smiled weakly as he took it. "Don't you worry. I hate this stuff. But since the healers said that I need some to dull the pain until they can get to me..." A bout of clan warring had recently erupted in Muscadet, and the White clan was too busy tending to the wounded to be able to treat the burn on Marche's arm, which was beginning to go completely dead--not a good sign. Other than that, the boy's upper right arm felt as though it was still on fire. Roland, as a White Adept, had ordered for the brandy; the distilled alcohol would be able to keep Marche from feeling the pain for some time yet.

"Marche..." came a quiet voice from behind him. Llednar, fully conscious but still a little pale, was standing behind him, looking uneasy.

"Have a seat," Marche said with a shrug, indicating another stool at the bar. Still looking uneasy, Llednar took it. "Glad to see you up again. What do you want?"

There was a long pause. Llednar looked off in another direction, letting his soft bangs fall into his face. At length, he spoke. "Why did you help me?"

The question was so absurd that Marche couldn't help but laugh. "You were dying. I couldn't just sit around and do nothing about it. Look, the world's good people make it a point to help those who can't help themselves. You were just... I couldn't help feeling sorry for you. Mewt and the queen abandoned you, and nobody close to you was taking care of you like they should have. When you needed somebody to turn to when you were still weak, no one was there. If I couldn't change that, I decided that I would at least help you survive." Shrugging, Marche sipped at the brandy and pulled a face. "I really do hate this stuff."

"I'm not going to tell you where the queen is headed," Llednar said guardedly. The wary look in his amber eyes only fed Marche's pity for him. "Or how many we've got expecting us."

"I don't want anything in return," Marche said simply. "I never expected anything in return. You're too loyal to the palace to tell me anything of that sort, anyway." Suddenly wincing, he put a hand to his burn. "Ow... damn it..." He gritted his teeth against the sudden flare of pain, hoping that it would pass soon.

"Let me see." Gentle hands pried apart Marche's grip and undid the bandages that encircled his upper arm. Surprised, Marche looked up at Llednar, who seemed to be totally focused on his work. The burn wound itself had blackened and charred the outer few layers of skin, breaking a few blood vessels and destroying nerve ends. The flesh directly around the wound was tinted bright red, with some spaces almost a mottled purple. "Not good. This is already starting to get infected." The little biskmatar dug in a pouch at his belt and came up with a handful of herbs, one of which he bit, breaking the veins in the plant's leaf, which began to ooze. Calmly, Llednar steadied Marche's arm and held the seeping leaf over the wound, letting the liquid inside drip directly onto the burn.

Startled, Marche jerked as the burn of the ooze made his wound spring into painful life. "OUCH! That stings! What is it!"

Llednar gripped Marche's forearm so hard that it began to go numb, keeping the arm steady as he continued to apply the whatever-it-was. "It's a normally useless herb. The 'blood' of the plant, when combined with human saliva, creates a powerful antiseptic."

"Well, it hurts like hell! Why can't you use something else!"

Serious amber eyes locked onto Marche's sapphire ones. "Would you prefer to lose your arm to some kind of infection?" Shrinking slightly, Marche shook his head. "Well then deal with it. Big baby." After that, Marche bit his lip until it bled rather than cry out from the pain.

When the leaf was emptied and the wound coated, Llednar cast the used-up plant aside and dug for something else. "Now muscmaloi to prevent fever, serralei and sugarwort to enhance healing, and poppy--" of this he used only the tiniest piece of the leaf to lay upon the most severe part of the wound-- "to ease the pain." Into the pouch went the unused herbs, and out of it came a length of white cloth bandage, that Llednar wound with expertise around Marche's upper arm. Once one layer firmly bound the wound, he took a few plant leaves from another small pouch and laid them over the wound. "Mint to keep the bandages clean," he explained as he wrapped another thin layer of bandage around the arm, ripped the strip, and tucked the stray end under another part of the bandage as the rest went into the tiny pack of herbs. "There. Now, if that doesn't start to heal in a week, I for one will be very surprised." Looking satisfied, Llednar leaned back on his stool with a sigh.

"Wow." Marche flexed his arm carefully, steeling himself for another burn but getting only a momentary stab of pain. "You sure know a lot about herbal healing."

Trying not to look pleased, Llednar shrugged. "Well, I've had to rely on it a lot, so..." Realizing what he was saying, he promptly shut up.

"Why would you need to use herbs?" Marche wanted to know. "It's impossible to hurt you in battle. What few things affect you heal instantly! Surely it's not about that!" With a look of dawning comprehension on his face, Marche drew in a sharp breath. "Oh, hell." Llednar looked off in another direction. "The palace protects you, so someone there must..." His voice trailed off as he grabbed the other boy by the shoulder and forced him around. "Has someone been hurting you?" Llednar refused to meet Marche's eyes. "That's called _child abuse, _Llednar. It's against the law. You have to tell someone about it!"

Red-faced, Llednar glared at Marche. "Well, it's not as if telling anybody will help! And... it's not like that anymore. She's stopped. She..." The youth's cheeks colored further and he turned away, going silent.

"She..." Marche said softly. His expression changed to one of horror. "The queen..."

Llednar glared again and stood up. "Don't go reading too much into it, Radiuju. We're square. You saved my life, and I've probably saved yours here. I'm leaving... I've got to find Mewt and Remedi, they need my help. And once I walk out that door, we're enemies again." Looking at the ground, he continued, his voice softening a little. "Thank you for helping me. I've really got to go." With that, Llednar slipped into the crowd and was gone like a shadow into pitch darkness.

With a little sigh, Marche studied the bar counter. "Such sorrow, at his age..." He shook his head to clear it. "Well, it isn't really any of my business anyway... and I can't think about that now. I have to find some way of contacting Doned, and convincing him and Ritz... that we've got to go home. Because as wonderful as Ivalice seems, it has its troubles too. And it's just an escape for us, a dream. We've got to wake up."

Marche stood up and left the tavern with a heavy heart.

fin

A/N: Thanx to my many "crayons" who kept me going while writing this monster of a one-shot! Sora, Cari, Kaori, Hime, Diamond, Shadow-chan, Stroud, Reiko-kun, and Devius-chan, not to forget Llednar-kun himself, I couldn't have made it without you.


End file.
